


You Remember Hell, Don't You?

by shishcabob22



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 13x08, 4x08, 4x10, Dean Post-Hell, Dean Winchester Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Worried Sam Winchester, sam winchester is a good brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 06:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14710532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shishcabob22/pseuds/shishcabob22
Summary: Dean hasn't talked about Hell in a long time, but Sam knows it still affects him. Just like he knows this mission won't do Dean any good. Set during 13x08, flashbacks to season 4.





	1. Remembering

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so this first chapter is my first fanfic, so I could probably rewrite it better, but I'm too lazy. Bear with me. The second chapter is way better, I promise.

Sam sees it.

Dean thinks he does a good job of hiding it, but Sam still sees it. He always does.

Meeting up with Bart the crossroads demon definitely wasn't high on their to-do list, but Sam and Dean had no choice. The only way they had to locate Jack was with Bart's spell.

When they were introduced to Smash and Grab, Sam realized what Bart wanted them to do right before Dean voiced it.

"Wait, this is a heist?"

The affirmative answer to that question just left them with more questions. Dean asked "What's in the safe?" right before Sam asked "Why don't you just rob it yourself?"

Bart, seemingly determined to avoid telling them about whatever it was they were stealing, answered Sam's question instead of Dean's.

"I would if I could. But while Grab can locate the vault room only the blood of a man who's been to Hell and back can open it. Tell me Dean, do you know any men like that?" 

Sam risked a glance at Dean, then quickly looked away, regretting it. It was too late. He saw the haunted, torn expression on Dean's face, if only for a second. The one that never quite left, just sunk into the rest of the lines on his face. 

_"You remember Hell, don't you?"_

Sam remembered that first year Dean had been back. How broken he had been.

Of course, Sam had been to Hell too now. But it was... different, somehow. No. Not somehow. It was different because Sam hadn't tortured souls. Hadn't broken. At least, not in the same way.

_"But then I couldn't do it anymore, Sammy. I couldn't. So I got off that rack, God help me I got right off. And I started rippin' them apart."_

Because Sam knew that when Dean thought about Hell, it wasn't his own pain he thought about. Not anymore. That kind of thing faded with time. No, when Dean thought about Hell, he thought about the thousands of souls that he broke.

Sam and Dean didn't talk about Hell. Not about their own experiences, not about each other's. Sam knew this job was going to take a toll on Dean.

But Sam also knew his brother, and he knew that Dean would shoulder any weight, responsibility, or pain for his family. And Jack was family, simple as that.


	2. Reflecting

Dean lay on his bed, unable to sleep. Of course, that could be due to the fact that he was fully clothed and hadn't bothered to cover himself with sheets or blankets.

He sat up, glancing at his clock. 1:03 am. Didn't even touch the latest he'd gone to sleep.

Dean moved quietly through the hallways, shivering in the cool air of the bunker. At least the cold was a sharp contrast to the heat of the Pit. 

The Pit. He'd actually managed to go a few weeks without thinking about it. Unsurprisingly, it was difficult to forget 40 years of torturing and being tortured. 

Normally, Hell would come to Dean in random feelings and sensations. Some scorching heat here, some unbearable pain there, a few horrific screams sprinkled in just about every direction. But sometimes, on cases like this, he'd get the full experience. Reality would drop away, and Dean would spend hours getting sliced and diced, unless he was doing the slicing and dicing himself. Then he would return to himself only to discover that barely ten seconds had gone by on the surface world.

Time's funny like that, isn't it?

After aimlessly wandering the bunker for what could've been minutes or hours--there time went again--Dean found himself in the library, next to the cabinet where he kept his good liquor. Dean always ended up here after cases like this. 

To be honest, Dean was scared to sleep. That first year he'd been back, the nightmares had been constant and unbearable, but they'd faded slowly over time. Dean smiled grimly to himself. Those nightmares had faded, just to be replaced by others. Dean still dreamt about Hell, but he also dreamt about Purgatory, and the Mark, and on and on and on. 

Dean poured himself two or three (or five) drinks but nothing was enough. No matter how much he drank, how many years passed, Dean could never escape the screams. He stopped being able to tell which were his and which weren't a long time ago.

It must have been nearly four in the morning when Dean heard shuffling footsteps enter the library behind him. 

"Dean? What are you doing up?"

Dean sipped at his whiskey as Sam pulled up a chair next to him before replying. "Oh, you know, just remembering the good old days."

Sam gave him a knowing look. Kid could see straight through him, just like always. "Dean, if you need to talk about it..."

"Sam, cmon.  You spent a lot more time in a hell a lot worse than mine. I'm not gonna whine to you about how much of a bitch Alastair was."

Sam's gaze hardened. "Dean, you can't seriously expect me to compare our experiences like that."

Dean shrugged. "What can I say, man, it sucked. And yeah, the reminder today wasn't great. But I'll work through it, just like I always do." Dean offered his usual shit eating grin, and Sam managed a small smile back.

Sam got up to leave, but then turned to face Dean again. "Just...get me if you need anything, alright?"

Dean raised his glass in acknowledgement. Sam hadn't bothered to ask him to get some sleep. He knew better than that. 

After emptying his glass, Dean took a pull straight from the bottle. Screw it. It wasn't like Sam was gonna want hard liquor anytime soon anyway. 

When Dean got up to head...somewhere, red flashed before his eyes. He took a moment to steady himself. It was fine. He would be fine. 

The memories were just a little sharper after jobs like this.

 

 


End file.
